


If You Let Me

by glitterpop



Category: Dream Daddy: A Dad Dating Simulator
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Characters to be added, Cheating, Depression, Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts, to be added - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2017-08-09
Packaged: 2018-12-11 06:33:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11708820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitterpop/pseuds/glitterpop
Summary: Robert's never been sure of what he wants, or needs, or even deserves, but that's never stopped him from rushing head-first into things before.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Robert's depression is modeled after my own, and how I process it. I don't have alcoholism, mind, but a lot of his other coping mechanisms(or what I took to be that) line up with my own, so it felt easiest to model it after that. So, if it seems odd, that's why. Sorry.

Robert watches the new guy - _fuck what was his name did he even get it_ \- stumble a little over his feet as they walk back to the cul-de-sac. New Guy’s staring intently at his feet, darting shy glances back up at Robert every now and then when he thinks he isn’t looking. It makes him think of earlier in the coffeeshop, nursing an espresso and a headache, looking up and catching New Guy glancing at him, how he’d blushed red up to his hairline before darting his eyes away.

It had been kind of sweet, honestly, and the only reason Robert hadn’t ignored him when he’d made small talk about The Game in the bar. Robert bought shots, after, testing New Guy a little, watched as he’d slammed the shots back with only a little shudder.

“Your face is, uh, good,” New Guy had said, his own face immediately twisting into a kind of resigned mortification.

“… Thanks?” Robert had replied, befuddled yet pleased. Definitely the most awkward way someone had flirted with him lately, but whatever. New Guy would be an easy lay, he figured, and even easier to ignore afterwards probably… not that he’s ever had issues ignoring the people he’s slept with in the past. Robert caught Mary’s eye as they left, and she smirked and rolled her eyes, turning back to the guy she was harassing.

Which left him and New Guy, who _of course_ was his new neighbor, coming to a stop just outside New Guy’s new house.

“So are we doing this or what?”

“What?”

“You know. Do you wanna come inside or not?” Robert watches with interest as New Guy’s face lit up bright red. Damn, the guy really _can_ blush. He watches New Guy bite his lip and knows where this is going, how it always goes, and it’ll be good, a distraction—

“Ah, I’d better call it a night,” New Guy says, still bright red, lips pulled into a shy smile, _fuck_ but that’s kinda cute— “Catch you around?”

Like he actually _wants_ to see Robert again, fuck this kid really has no fucking clue what kinda shit Robert gets up to, what kinda person he is, not if he actually wants to hang out again, but…

“Sure,” Robert agrees, smiling. He watches New Guy stumble up to his door, watches him struggle to open the door, watches until New Guy is gone completely from sight. He stumbles his way to his own door, goes inside his own house, closes the door and slides down it to sit on the floor, not bothering to turn on the lights.

Robert sits in the dark and breathes for a minute, and for that minute, everything’s quiet. He can hear the flow of air coming from the AC, he can hear Betsy snuffling in her sleep, he can hear his own breathing, and it’s fine, everything’s fine—

\--and then it’s not. Everything goes quiet for a second before his mind is reeling. It feels like there are tiny little needles under skin that’s suddenly stretched too tight, and he’s gasping for breath, overwhelmed by nothing. He can feel the floor under him, too hard, but it doesn’t matter, _it doesn’t matter_ , fuck, nothing fucking matters and he’d just wanted to _forget_ , to feel good for once in a blue moon, and New Guy had smiled so goddamn sweetly at him, he’d been so _sure,_ and it burns like relief and fear that he’d turned Robert down. There’s no good reason to brush New Guy off, not now, and _fuck_.

Robert sits on the floor and feels hollow. Like someone scooped out the things that used to be in him and filled him with sludge. He can feel it sloshing in him sometimes, crowding out his hearing, weighing down his tongue, and he feels it now, the sludge, the apathy. He could sit here for the rest of his life in the dark, not moving, not caring, but fuck that would be nice to just not fucking care, to just sit here and rot, it would just be _so fucking nice_ if he just didn’t have to fucking exist like this, too numb to be miserable, too alive to feel anything _but_ miserable. No wonder New Guy turned him down, no wonder Val left—

He lurches off the floor and beelines over to where he knows he keeps the whiskey, swallows until his daughter’s name stops ringing in his head like a chant, like a plea.  
\------------------------  
ROBERT: _whats new guys name again?  
_ MARY: _It’s considered rude to not at least ask for a name before fucking a guy, you know.  
_ ROBERT: _did ask  
_ ROBERT: _just forgot  
_ ROBERT: _turned me down anyways  
_ MARY: _Really.  
_ MARY: _How delightful.  
_ ROBERT: _mary cmon whats his damn name  
_ MARY: _Dee something-or-other.  
_ MARY: _He’ll be at the barbecue.  
_ ROBERT: _shit.  
_ MARY: _You’d better be there.  
_ ROBERT: _im callin in dead  
_ MARY: _I have so much blackmail on you it puts the CIA to shame.  
_ ROBERT: _jesus fucking christ  
_ ROBERT: _yeah ok fair  
_ ROBERT: _hate to pass up a chance to make your lovely husband uncomfortable  
_ MARY: _That’s the spirit.  
_ \------------------------  
He brings a bottle of whiskey for himself and a bottle of wine for Mary, because he’s an asshole and he _knows_ Joseph, knows him from experience, from the way Mary’s lip curls resentfully and her eyes darken with sorrow. He walks into Joseph’s backyard with his head held high, already a little drunk, and is grateful that most of the other dads are already here. Mary’s standing next to Joseph, looking tired and angry, and he walks straight over.

“Afternoon,” he greets, grinning a little sharp when they look over to him. It’s always a little amusing how different their reactions to him are; Mary’s always a little relieved, happy to have him around, _especially_ when Joseph is, while Joseph always looks tense and the fake kind of happy that masks genuine anxiety over something. It’s one of the few pleasures he has in life, making Joseph uncomfortable.

“Robert,” Joseph greets, eyes tight, smile firmly in place. “It’s so nice you could make it! I see you brought beverages,” he comments, eyes going disdainfully to the bottles in his hands. “That’s very nice of you.” How Joseph manages to keep a smile on his face and have it seem so real while talking to Robert is honestly a mystery, but he supposes it’s for appearances. Everything is an appearance with Joseph.

“Whiskey’s for me,” he says simply. “Wine’s for my best girl.” Damn, but he loves it when he can get Joseph’s eye to twitch like that. Mary’s smile broadens.

“Ah, well,” Joseph starts, only a little tense. “We figured with everyone here today that Mary—“

“Don’t be rude, Joseph,” Mary cuts in sharply, stepping up to Robert and taking the bottle he hands her, turning her face to accept the kiss he places on her cheek. “It’s rude to refuse a gift.”

“Well—“

“Thank you, Robert,” Mary tells him sweetly, and it’s only because he’s known her so long and well that he can see the obvious merriment that Mary is taking from this conversation.

“Anything for you, Mary,” he tells her sincerely, and they both grin at each other. “Got a glass I can borrow? I could just drink from the bottle, but you know, _with everyone here today_ …” Ah, another eye twitch. Nice.

“Of course,” Mary says, taking the arm he offers her and leading him into the house. “You can grab one while I grab a glass for myself.” They giggle quietly together as they leave Joseph behind them.

“New guy here yet?” Robert asks once they’re in the kitchen, grabbing both of them glasses while Mary opens her wine bottle.

“No,” she answers, and the bitterness would be obvious to even someone that didn’t know her well. He grunts, handing her a wine glass before opening his whiskey. He pours a generous amount, mulling over his words a moment.

“Barbecue was sudden,” he starts, watching Mary’s shoulders go tense. “Normally some more advanced notice.”

“Normally,” she agrees, taking a long swallow of wine. He scratches at his hand where the tattoo is, grimacing. “New guy turned you down?”

“Yeah,” he says, looking closely at her. “Don’t think he _wasn’t_ interested, though.”

The way Mary’s shoulders relax then tighten again tells him all he needs to know.

“Fuck,” he says, draining his glass in three large gulps. Mary nods as he pours himself another one. “The guy just can’t stay away from fresh meat, can he?”

“I guess not,” Mary mutters, and she looks just as angry and resigned as she had that first night she’d talked to him, told him to stay away from Joseph.

_[“Fuck you,” he’d muttered, drunk and hurting. Everything had been so_ much _these past few months, Marilyn gone and Val washing her hands of him, grief stacked upon grief, and Joseph was like a balm, calm words soothing his hurts, and fuck, would it hurt to have just one nice thing?_

_“It isn’t me you’re looking to fuck,” she’d snapped, arms crossed, and fuck, no wonder Joseph wanted to leave her, this sharp harpy, this angry woman, no wonder—_

_“You don’t know shit about me,” he’d snapped back, voice slurred. She accosted him at Jim and Kim’s when he was already too deep to remember being sober, and he was less than pleased about it. “I’ll do whatever the fuck I want.” He watched as her face twisted in anger, feeling victorious and vindicated when she threw her hands up angrily._

_“Fine, you drunk bastard, don’t even listen to me. Don’t say I didn’t warn you though,” she’d said before turning on her heel and stomping away. He watched as she slid up to the bar, turned to the boy next to her and managed to wrestle a drink out of him._

_‘Hypocrite,’ he thought angrily, pulling out his phone and checking what time he and Joseph agreed to meet the next day._

_After… after, he’d found her sitting in a booth at the back of the bar, watching him with blank eyes and he slid into the seat across from her._

_“Should’ve listened to you,” he’d said quietly, tapping the bottom of his glass against the table. She’d snorted, inelegant and imperious._

_“Should’ve,” she agreed. “You think you’re the first?”_

_And, for some reason, relief bubbled up among the hurt for a brief second. It drew a laugh out of him, and Mary had raised a single brow, startled._

_“Guess I did,” he’d replied, smiling shamefaced at her. “Sorry I fucked your husband.” Silence settled between them. Robert started to get up, having said his piece, when Mary spoke up._

_"You’re the first to apologize.”_

_Robert paused at that, looking at her, and for a minute she hadn’t looked like that angry woman he’d always pegged her to be. She seemed drawn, and resigned, and so, so tired. For a minute, he saw himself, beaten down by a world he couldn’t control, trying to run and run and run and just, fuck, hope he eventually got somewhere that wasn’t here, wasn’t this, not this, and he’d never seen it so plainly in someone else before that moment._

_“Drinks are on me tonight,” he told her, sitting down again. “If you want the company.”_

_She looked at him, and he wondered if she saw what he saw, if she could see herself in him. Maybe this was a mistake, what was he thinking, her husband cheated on her with him, why would she ever—_

_“I’ve had worse company,” she answered, and smiled at him. He smiled back. They both knew who she meant.]_

He watches as Mary drinks her glass of wine quickly before pouring another one, wonders what he can say, wonders if he _should_ say something. Their mutual animosity and disappointment in Joseph brought them together, and he knew she’d forgiven him, but it was still a _thing_ , and seeing this thing bubble up again, directed at someone else, just makes the empty feeling creep up again.

“Well, let’s see what new guy does when Joseph comes at him,” is what he goes with, “then drinks are on me tonight.”

“What a gentleman,” she says, smiling, and Robert knows that somehow he still hasn’t fucked this up, at least.  
\------------------------  
What the new guy, _Dee_ , does when Joseph comes at him is act overwhelmed and uncomfortable, especially when the children are introduced, _especially_ when Mary joins the conversation. Robert watches them, watches Mary size up Dee, before she slides away. The tightness around her eyes has eased up slightly, which eases some of the tightness in his own shoulders. Joseph watches as Dee walks away with his daughter, though, so. Still gotta watch for that.

Dee’s daughter is something else, from what he can see. Loud and comfortable in her own skin, comfortable with her father, laughing and shoving him while Dee grins at her like she’s the best thing in his life, and if that isn’t a kick to the stomach… but he can’t begrudge them that. Watching every father here interacting with their kids is just as hard, even Joseph, who clearly adores all of his kids. It’s not their fault he’s a wreck, a bad father, not their fault he ruins everything he touches, it’s his fault, he just poisons and ruins and—

He takes a large gulp of whiskey to wash the thoughts away.

_Awkward_ , he thinks of Dee, watching him get shoved away from the refreshment table by his daughter. He looks like a deer facing a hunter, looking out at everyone. Is it his imagination, or does Dee’s eye linger a little long on him?

Dee turns bright red once more before darting his gaze away, so no, not his imagination. Robert grins into his glass; Dee _certainly_ hadn’t turned that red when Joseph was talking to him. Dee wanders around, sometimes yelling random things at his daughter who yells back, talking awkwardly with all the other dads except, wait, Craig. They seem oddly comfortable with each other, shit, of course Dee would latch onto fucking _Craig_ of all people, fuck, Dee smiles so large around Craig and he feels a wave of resignation wash over him, but at least it’s not fucking _Joseph_.

Except then Dee is wandering over to where he and Brian are chatting, smile turned shy and cheeks starting to become just a little rosy, fuck, that’s still really cute. Brian greets Dee, as loud and happy as he always is, asking if he’s met Robert yet.

“We’ve met,” Dee answers, cutting his gaze over to Robert. Dee, bless him, only turns a little red this time. Robert watches, vaguely delighted and more than a little drunk now.

“Good seeing you again,” he says and somehow means it. Dee smiles, and maybe it’s not as large as it was when he smiled at Craig, but it still feels real in a way most things don’t now. He’ll take what he can get and run with it.

Brian laughs, delighted, before finishing his story about taking Daisy camping. Robert likes Daisy; well-behaved and quiet, but she always smiles at him, and it feels nice, sometimes, that he doesn’t always scare kids away from him, and on his better days it doesn’t even make him wonder when the last time his own daughter had smiled at him like that. Probably when she was Daisy’s age.

“I haven’t gone camping in years. Not since the last time,” Robert remarks, sipping his whiskey as both men look over at him. Dee starts to say something about fatherhood before his ears catch up with him and he pauses.

“Wait. What happened last time?”

Robert takes another long sip of whiskey, thinking his words over, before launching into his story. He goes into grim detail, watching their faces become pale and their eyes go wide as he just… keeps going. He loves telling stories; a chance at a life different from his own, keeping people guessing and far away from the bullshit trash heap he really is. Dee’s mouth is open a little, looking flabbergasted.

_Gullible,_ he thinks fondly, fighting a smile.

“I’m just kidding,” he finally says. “My friend John and I went inner tubing down a river and he lost a flip flop. Miss that kid.” He hasn’t talked to John in years, not since he drew into himself, started drinking more, not since John stopped trying and Robert didn’t think he should, poison poison _poison_ —

Dee and Brian laugh, a little nervously and a lot relieved, and Robert can’t help it, he _can’t,_ fucked up thing he is—

“Or am I kidding?”

\--except Dee looks so _tense_ , and shit, he shouldn’t care but he does, he always ends up caring, he always ends up hurting for it but fuck if he can keep himself from it.

“I’m kidding,” he says, finishing his glass just as Joseph calls everyone over for burgers. Dee follows him over, stands on one side while Mary sidles up next to him, eyes just as blurry as his probably are, and he’s feeling contented and drunk enough to join in on the punning.

It certainly doesn’t hurt that Joseph’s hands falter when he hears Robert’s voice.  
\------------------------  
MARY: _We’re going out drinking.  
_ MARY: _Now.  
_ ROBERT: _im already here drinking woman_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, Robert's depression and how he copes and processes it are based off my own life living with depression and how I've handled it. If it seems weird, that's why

Robert’s three drinks deep and staring down the fourth with grim determination when Mary flops into his booth, knee knocking into his and breath hissing out her teeth in frustration. The wine in the glass she’s clutching in her hand doesn’t even so much as tilt, and Robert remembers suddenly he’s been meaning to ask how she does that, because, well. Wow. He could really live the rest of his life, however short or long that is, without wasting good liquor on his shirt and face, and she just makes it looks so effortless, he’s jealous, honestly he is.

“I’m going to kill Joseph,” she tells him grimly, glaring at her glass, knocking him out of his thoughts briefly.

“What else is new?” Robert asks casually, managing to startle a laugh out of her before she goes back to glaring at her glass. “What’d he do this time?”

“Nothing, yet, aside from being the most _obvious asshole_ ever.” She glances up, must see a look on his face because her grimace softens briefly. “He’s obviously wondering why cute little Dee hasn’t messaged him on Dadbook yet, keeps checking it obsessively. I even heard him muttering that maybe he just hasn’t been on it, yet, and he’d get around to it soon.”

“Oh,” Robert says, knocking back his shot quickly. “Well, that’s not the case. He messaged me earlier today.”

“ _Did he_ ,” Mary asks, anger disappearing with a sly grin. Mary must remember what he does; Dee’s face, bright red and shy every time he looked at Robert. It makes his gut lurch every time he thinks of it, something hot and shamed curling through him, pleasure and something else, fear maybe, or anger. He isn’t sure. “What did he want?”

“Said maybe we should grab a drink sometime,” he shrugs, trying to play it cool, but this is Mary. She knows him better than anyone else does right now. She knows when he’s longing, hurting and angry and bleak. She _knows_ him, and it’s a blessing and a curse, how she cuts through him with a look. He isn’t sure what he’s projecting but it must be something else, judging by how Mary’s grin widens the longer she stares.

“Smart man,” she toasts the absent Dee. “What’d you say?”

He shifts, uncomfortable suddenly.

“You didn’t say anything?”

“No.”

“Why _not_?”

 _Because Dee’s not fucked up_ , he thinks bitterly. Dee, with his perfect daughter Amanda who’s bright and vivacious and looks ready to follow her father to the end of the world, if that’s where life took them. Dee, who was witty and smart and got along with _everybody_ , somehow. He’s seen Dee running with Craig and trying to make River laugh, talking with Damien on the black painted porch, chatting happily with Mat in the shop, gushing with Brian as they happily brag about their daughters. Dee’s friends with all of them and still, somehow, turns the same red he does every time he catches Robert’s eye. He waves, sometimes, when he sees Robert, and he always waves back, helpless and despairing. Because Dee isn’t _fucked_ like Robert is, he’s got so much _life_ , and Robert forgot what it felt like to be alive so long ago that he’s not sure he ever even knew. He wants to get close to Dee, feel that heat of life, hope it soaks into him, but he’s afraid of taking that life and drowning it in his bullshit, doesn’t know how to not do that, doesn’t know how to not break everything he touches, and God, he doesn’t think he can survive breaking someone that isn’t him, not again.

Mary takes in his silence, lets him breathe through it with nothing but the touch of her knee against his, and it still feels like too much, but he can’t tear himself away from her.

“Message him,” she finally says, and he knows a command when he hears one.

“It’s late,” he reasons, trying to fight anyways, trying to do anything but fuck up again, but—

“So what? Maybe he’s up, maybe he’s not. Either way, we’re drinking.”

He huffs, laughs, and groans. Mary smiles at him before standing to get the next round, and Robert pulls out his phone, pulls up Dadbook. Thumbs nervously over Dee’s name, clicks on it before Mary comes back and calls him out on being a coward.

_you up?  
_ _wyd_

A minute later—

_Just working on my motorcycle._

He’s still laughing when Mary slides back into the booth, and she snatches his phone from his hand before he can protest. She starts laughing herself, handing the phone back to him.

“What a little liar,” she teases, bringing her glass to her grinning mouth. He hums, thumbs tapping his phone screen.

_you have never been on a motorcycle in your life_  
_i don’t think you’ve ever even touched a motorcycle  
_ _nice try tho_

Dee, for some reason, agrees to meet up despite the late hour. He quickly downs his shot, runs his tongue along his teeth; did he brush them today? Fuck, when’s the last time he showered? _Fuck_ , he didn’t think this through, he’s a fucking mess, Dee’s going to get here and see that he’s a mess, an old smelly _already drunk_ mess and turn right back around, no goodbye, no more blushing or smiling, no more anything, all because Robert is just a fuck up of a person, what was he _thinking_. Fuck fuck _fuckity fuck fuck_ , fuck Mary and fuck Dee and fuck _himself_ for thinking this could ever go any way but badly—

Then Dee is sliding into the seat across from him, blushing just as pretty as always, smiling bright and sweet, glancing confused and maybe a little disappointed at Mary who smiles saccharine sweet at him like she doesn’t notice.

“Hey Robert… Mary,” Dee says, sounding unsure. Mary preens; she always could smell when men feared her, and he knows she’s delighting in making Dee visibly uncomfortable.

“Hey,” he says gruffly, shifting uncomfortable.

“Hey there, sailor,” Mary greets. Dee looks at him again, and there’s definitely an accusation hiding in his eyes.

“Figured we could use a drinking buddy,” he says, and it’s not technically a lie. He doesn’t have to elaborate that Dee is their drinking buddy, for now, depending on how the night went. He can feel himself smiling, finds he can’t stop, not when Dee is looking a little disgruntled and a lot intimidated by him and Mary.

“Don’t look so scared, kiddo. We’re just having a drink,” Mary tells Dee, rolling her eyes.

“Yeah. Speaking of which, I think it’s time for the first round.” Still not technically a lie, since it would be Dee’s first drink of the night. “What are ya having?”

Dee mulls this over for a moment before looking Robert right in the eye, eyes alight with something that looks like a _dare_ , holy fucking _shit_.

“Whiskey,” Dee tells them, grinning abashed and looking a little too pleased with himself.

Bless this man.  
\------------------------  
Later that night, with Dee swaying drunkenly towards him, looking star struck by everything Robert is, he has an honest moment of panic for the first time since Dee sat down across from him hours ago. Because, _damn_ , he really wants to kiss Dee right now, thinks he might let Robert get away with it.

Robert felt the urge just as sharply a few times that night; when Dee squinted at Mary offering a blunt—

_[“You with the feds?” Dee had asked after a moment, looking less uncomfortable the more he talked. Mary blinked in surprise, but Dee just carried on. “I worked hard for what I have and no two-bit corner boy is gonna drop the dime on me.”_

_“What?” Mary had asked, looking as startled as Robert felt._

_“So you take what you’re pushing somewhere else and I’ll keep running my business the way I want it to run. Remember,” and here Dee leaned forward, pointing accusingly at Mary, grinning like a loon, and holy_ shit _the kid is starting to get drunk already, bless this lightweight, “You come at the king, you best not miss.”_

_“It was a joke,” Mary tells Dee while Robert giggles uncontrollably into his glass. He wishes for a moment that Dee had said yes, because cross-fading sounds like a good fucking time right now, but this is nice too, it’s nice watching Dee turn red from something other than nerves, nice seeing him smile, nice--]_

\--sitting in alone with him at the bar—

 _[“Too many people -and this isn’t necessarily you- but too many people think that they have to fill the dead air with noise. Personally,” he gestures to himself, sees the way Dee is looking at him but can’t shut his fucking mouth, never fucking could, goddamnitt, “I think they’re afraid of the silence. Or they’re afraid of what the other person is gonna think of the silence. If you want some unsolicited advice, just learn to be comfortable with silence.” How many times has he said the word silence? Why can’t he shut up? “Nothing wrong with two people sitting in silence drinking whiskey.” Fuck, he said silence again, fuck, why does he always_ do _this, he just never fucking learns, where’s Mary, she’s better at this, he needs her help, he can’t be left alone with this man and not fuck everything up._

_“Okay,” Dee says after a minute of thinking. He looks as awkward as ever, but he turns to the bar, sipping his drink and watching the crowd. Robert watches him, watches tension slowly slide off his shoulders, watches eyes go from darting to roaming, watches lips rest full and wet against the rim of his glass, and fuck, Dee is the one who should be afraid of what Robert thinks in the quiet right now, fuck, he can’t have Dee thinking he doesn’t want to talk to him, shit, say something say anything fuck just don’t fucking wreck this like everything else…_

_“You ever kill a man?” Robert fights a cringe as Dee chokes on his drink, looks over at him with wide eyes._

_“Excuse me?” Dee asks, and if Robert weren’t contemplating three different ways to kill himself right then and there, he might have found the scandalized tone pretty cute._

_“You know,” and just why the fuck is Robert still talking? “Watch the life drain from someone’s eyes. It’s not just their life, you know.” Shut up shut up shut_ up _, holy shit, what the fuck is he thinking right now? “It’s their hopes and dreams draining away. Every memory and experience they’ve ever had… gone.” He certainly wishes he were dead right now, watching Dee regard him with alarm from across the table._

_“Uhm… no,” Dee finally manages, looking like he can’t say the same for Robert._

_“Great, me neither,” he reassures quickly, trying on a casual smile and knocking back his shot as he contemplates who would take care of Betsy if he just… walked outside in front of a semi right now. Dee knocks back his own shot when Robert motions for him to, looking relieved. “I’m just messing, kid, relax.” Dee laughs, just a little nervous now. “Or am I?” Christ, what’s wrong with him?_

_Except Dee just laughs again, a little less nervous, and stays sipping his whiskey. Under the table, the toe of Dee’s shoe knocks against his boot. Dee turns bright red, glancing at him, and Robert looks back, doesn’t move his foot, drowns his confusion and turmoil in his drink when Dee smiles at him.]_

\--when they were throwing rocks—

_[“I’m sorry!” Dee hollered, chucking the rock Robert handed him as hard as he could, and Robert’s laughing again, can’t help it, fuck, when was the last time he’d laughed this much? When was the last time something other than whiskey and Betsy made him feel anything close to approaching good?_

_The rock sails over the stop sign, though, right into a parked car, shit, the window’s cracked,_ shit _where’s the owner, they’re in so much trouble._

 _“Dude, run!” Robert shouts, grabbing Dee’s arm and yanking him up, and Dee, he just lets himself be led, trusting Robert, and_ fuck _but that’s a bad idea, so bad, but Dee is a solid presence under his hand and it’s so nice, so nice, and in the end they wind up a couple blocks away, choking on laughter, out of breath and Dee is clutching him, now, too, and Robert’s heart thumps painfully against his ribs.]_

\--defending him against four thirteen-year olds—

_[He watches Dee limp towards him for two steps before he strides over, opening his arms when Dee leans to fall into him. He’s practically sobbing with laughter in Robert’s arms, injured leg lifted off the ground. Robert himself is muffling his laughter in Dee’s hair, clutching Dee’s body as he listens to the retreating echo of footsteps down the alley. Dee presses his face into Robert’s neck, gasping for air._

_“Oh my God,” Dee wheezes, pulling away to breathe. “Those thirteen-year old brats just attacked us.”_

_“Ambitious,” Robert agrees, laughter tapering off slowly. “You okay?”_

_“Banged up,” Dee says, grimacing. “I’ll live, though. You?”_

_“Brats didn’t even touch me. Too intimidated by my fighting skills.”_

_“Oh my God, you were gonna fight an eighth-grader for me.”_

_“I was_ not _,” Robert says, offended down to his bones, but maybe he would have, under the right circumstances. Maybe. They hug each other, buzzing with laughter, breathing until the shakes stopped. Dee’s eyes are shining so bright in the low light over the street light, and Robert’s breath catches, falters, and it’d be so easy, such a nice easy thing to do, and Dee would let him, wouldn’t he? He sways, tempted beyond all belief._

_“I’m so sorry,” he mutters, not sure what exactly he’s apologizing for, not sure what sort of apology Dee deserves from him; sorry for making you crack a window, sorry for breaking and entering, sorry I can only face you when I’m drunk, sorry sorry sorry… “I get really into the art of filmmaking when I drink,” is what he goes with instead, and Dee giggles a little, eyes unfocused._

_“It’s okay,” he tells Robert, and if Robert were more sober he wouldn’t be imagining the fond tone in Dee’s voice, he knows it. “I think it’s cool how much you like movies. To be honest I don’t know a lot about them myself.”_

_“Buddy, I got so much to show you,” Robert tells him gravely. “You ever see any Sam Fueller?”_

_“No.”_

_“Fueller is cash.”_

_They laugh and laugh, and Robert catches Dee’s eye, and he still_ wants _so badly, and Dee’s breath catches, eyes clearing for a moment._

 _“Thanks,” Dee says, taking a step back, “for defending my honor.” His smile takes on that same awkward tinge, like he’s afraid he’s done something wrong, and it reminds Robert where he is with a splash of cold water. Here he is, standing in a dirty alleyway at a time considered early rather than late. Dee, held loosely in his arms, nervous and drunk and so caught up in Robert, but he’s_ drunk _, God, Robert can’t do this to him, can’t force himself on Dee when he’s too drunk to notice what a fucking awful mess Robert is, too drunk to understand that Robert would ruin him, poison him like he does everything else in his life._

_Deep breath._

_“It’s a little strange when you put it that way, but sure, why not.” Before Dee can process the tone, the look in his eye, he slings an arm around the man’s shoulders, tucks him close, tries to ignore the thought of Dee’s lips, soft and inviting. Dee wraps an arm around his waist, and together they walk back home, singing loudly to drown Robert’s thoughts.]_

\--but here, in this moment, Dee looks more inviting and approachable, and Robert thinks for a moment that maybe it’d be okay, just a touch, a taste, enough to memorize the way he feels lighter in this moment than he has in months, enough to warm him when this must end.

“This was an… interesting night,” Dee tells him.

“I had fun,” Robert tells him honestly, smiling. “Let’s hang out again soon, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Dee agrees, and Robert clenches his hands into fists so hard he feels pinpricks of blood under his nails, anything to not reach out and beg Dee to stay and fill the holes in him… but he manages to stay silent as Dee slides inside his house, only stumbling a little now.

Deep breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh, guys, thanks for being so sweet with the last chapter!! Hope you guys like this one too


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Robert's depression and coping is based off my own, except in regards to the drinking. If it seems odd or disjointed, or if it's hard to understand, that's the reason.

Hours later, Robert sits huddled against the wall his bed is against. His jacket and shirt are thrown off somewhere into the chaos that is his room, but he doesn’t care, he’s too drunk to care, he’s too fucked up to care, shit, always fucking up. A bottle sits open at his feet, and he’s cradling his head in his hands, hunched forward, breathing, all he can do is breathe, just breathe, just…

Dee had been so _happy_ , goddamnitt, and he’d ruined that for him by wanting things he _knows_ that he can’t have, he just never _fucking_ learns. His eyes burn, but when he blinks they’re still dry. His breath comes out shuddering on the next exhale.

All he and Mary had wanted was to see if Dee even wanted to give Joseph the time of day, all _he’d_ wanted was to show Dee a good time, show him that there’s more to Robert than maybe what he’d figured… Except, all Robert knows how to do is drink and break things. All Robert knows is how to be a bad influence, drag people down the shithole that is his life, how to make them _bad_ like he is. Dee isn’t bad, he thinks, not with a kid like Amanda, not while he’s making friends left and right, not when _Craig_ laughs with him like Dee is the best thing in the world, goddamn him.

Dee had certainly been bad tonight, though, and just whose fault was that?

The thought makes him sick, and he grabs the bottle at his feet, chugging without hesitation.  
\------------------------  
Waking up from a bender is an _ordeal_ every single time, and every single time it sucks just as much. He’d compared it once, when he was drunk off his ass and barely coherent, to that psychologist bullshit, the five stages of grief—

_[“I don’t think that’s what therapists have in mind when they bring that up,” Mary had told him flatly when he’d told her this over drinks._

_“So fucking what?” Robert had fired back, sneering, already on his way to being blackout, ignoring that he’d just going to have to deal with waking up from just another fucking ordeal, but that was for the next day, he’d figured. “I’m grieving, it counts.”_

_“What are you grieving?” Mary had snapped, also drunk, and she had shut her mouth so fast her teeth clicked after. They stared at each other in silence for a moment; Mary’s eyes were wide, Robert’s closed off and angry. He’d been so angry in that moment, ready to flip the table, throw his glass at the wall, run out of the bar and away, run away like always, he’d just wanted to scream and scream and scream, but if he’d screamed he would have hollowed himself out, he thought, and left room for other things, worse things, like the smell of vanilla and tiny hands and Marilyn’s hand, limp around his while he’d been too numb to cry—_

_He’d slammed back another drink, stole Mary’s and drunk that too. Mary let him. He was still angry, but the alcohol helped, and he could read the lines of Mary’s shoulders, the shine in her eyes. He could read the apology she wouldn’t, couldn’t tell him, and he let it go._

_“Being alive,” he finally answered, and was somehow able to manage a grin.]_

\--and now, today, he feels himself go through it all over again.

“No,” he moans bleakly, scrunching his eyes shut tighter, and, wow, even that hurts right now, that’s fucking fantastic. “Oh, _fuck no_ , not this fucking bullshit, god _fucking_ damnitt.” There’s a small yipping bark from where he assumes his feet are, he can’t really feel them, can’t feel _anything_ past the way his head throbs in tempo with his heart. “ _Fuck me_ , fuck this, fuck fuck _fuck_.”

Another bark, accompanied by the pitter patter of tiny feet running back and forth across the bathroom.

“Five more minutes,” he tells Betsy, not moving, shit, what smelled like acid? Cracking open his eyes takes more effort than he’s proud to admit, but he’s finally able to figure out where he is. He’s sitting on the floor in his bathroom, almost head first into the toilet bowl, staring down at all of yesterday’s whiskey. The only thing saving him from drowning in toilet water and vomit is the fact that his forehead is resting on the back lip of the seat. The fan overhead drones, his bare chest prickling with the cold, and he closes his eyes again and groans, considers not getting up, knows he’s just going to repeat yesterday again today, like he did the day before, and the day before that, ever since that night with Mary and Dee, making an ass out of himself, scaring Dee with his wants, scaring _himself_ , fuck, why is he _like this_ all the time? He’s going to die, somehow, someday, but he’d rather just drown himself now, save everyone the time and heartache, it’s for the best really…

Another bark comes, this one a little more frantic sounding, and Robert takes as deep a breath he can manage without gagging.

“Okay,” he mutters, picking his head up. The light’s on in the bathroom, and it hurts his eyes something fierce, the pounding in his head no better than before, but there’s Betsy in all her glory. She yaps happily when he looks at her and practically jumps on him, tiny claws scratching at the demin of his jeans, trying to find purchase so she can climb up and kiss his gross, sweaty face. Not for the first time, he feels a wave of love crash over him for her, and he manages to pick an arm up and scratch behind her ears. “You’re a good girl,” he tells her solemnly, but she’s too busy enjoying his touch to respond with more than wagging her little stump of a tail so hard her butt shakes.

It feels like it takes years for Robert to pick himself up off the floor, but somehow he manages it. He flushes the toilet and runs some water in the tap; he’s not sure his stomach can take the smell of toothpaste, but he rinses his mouth out quite a few times before just drinking from the tap. The water hits his stomach with a hollow feeling; when was the last time he ate? He’s not sure, not sure it matters, when it last mattered, he could go the rest of his life without eating and it’d be fine, he thinks.

Betsy follows so close when he leaves the bathroom that he almost trips a few times, but he doesn’t chide her, let’s her circle his feet as much as she wants. He checks her food and water bowls to make sure drunk-him actually took care of the one thing in his life that still loves him, and thankfully it looks like he did, before he opens the back door and lets her dash outside to do her business.

He stands on the threshold, finally able to take deep breaths without wanting to throw up. It’s night out, looks like it has been for a while, and he can smell Damien’s garden from here. It’s soothing, like a lot of things aren’t, and he’s so caught in it that he forgets where he is, who he is, until his stomach loudly interrupts his peace.

“Needy bastard,” Robert sulks, walks into the kitchen without closing the door, wanting Betsy to make her own way inside, wanting to smell the flowers. He makes coffee and frozen waffles, nibbles on the edge of one to see if his stomach rebels while he watches the coffee brews. When he’s sure of his guts, and the coffee is ready, he takes the drink and his other waffle back outside, sits right on the concrete back porch, watches Betsy chase fireflies. It’s… oddly soothing, and he lets the quiet night wrap him tight.

He hears laughter drift from an open window, maybe a couple houses down, and his stomach clenches for an entirely different reason than nausea.

Oh, but fuck, he knows that laughter.

Suddenly all he can think of is Dee, drunk off his ass and stumbling over his own feet, laughing and clutching Robert, holding his injured leg off the ground, smiling so big it even hurt Robert to look at, somewhere deep inside him. He’d looked _amazing_ laughing like that, the most loose he’d ever seen the other man, who seemed to hold anxiety over his shoulders like a brace against the world. Robert could relate. He’d looked like the most real thing in the world that night, and Robert aches for a taste, wishes he’d grabbed one when Dee had smiled, is glad he hadn’t.

The laughter fades, and Robert is brought back to his backyard, Betsy snuffling at his feet curiously. He takes a deep breath, holding in the smell of flowers and waiting, waiting… but there’s no more laughter, and his head isn’t pounding quite so much, so he picks himself up and goes back inside.

Except there’s nothing for him inside, either. Just trash, and silence, and bottles upon bottles crowding up every available surface. He hasn’t cleaned in a while, maybe ever, but he knows which ones still have something in them, knows which one would fuck him up the most, and it’s all just _there._

His stomach gurgles unhappily, and he rubs it absently as he walks to his computer.

_Later_ , he thinks, sitting down. _Give the liver a few hours_.

He’s expecting messages from Mary, and they’re there waiting for him; ranging from acerbic to chiding to worried. Robert smiles at them, only a little shaky. He appreciates the shit out of her, he really does. He also knows that if he doesn’t reply to her, she’s going to come tomorrow and break down his door, if for no other reason than to check to see if she needs to take his dog from his corpse. Maybe she wouldn’t want to see him dead, though. It’s nice. It’s not enough, he thinks, but it’s still nice. He goes to reply to her last message before he notices that he has messages on Dadbook, too.

Throat tight, he brings up the page and checks his messages.

There’s a handful of them, all from Dee, all over the course of the past few days. He sits frozen for a long moment, processing how screwed up this felt. He’d been so _sure_ , Dee backing away, anxiety clouding his eyes like it hadn’t in hours, smile strained, fuck, he’d been so _fucking sure_ that he’d ruined whatever good impression he may have had with Dee by not being able to contain himself… but here was Dee, persistent in the face of Robert’s unintentional silence. Robert clenches his jaw to fight the tremble he feels building up in his body.

DEE: _Hey man, dunno where you’ve been but we should grab a drink soon._

_Like he wants to be near me_ , Robert thinks somewhat hysterically, hands clenched into tight fists. The message was sent hours ago, early in the day, shit, what had Robert been doing at that time? He’s not sure, honestly he’s not, the past few _days_ are a jumbled mess of being blackout drunk and being on the verge of blackout drunk. He groans, closes his eyes and rubs at them with his fists so hard he sees white behind his lids, looks back at his computer. It’s late, all good little boys and girls would probably be in bed by now, Dee included, he should wait to apologize…

Dee might not answer, though, if he waits too long. He might never talk to Robert again, and besides, he’d heard laughing, hadn’t he? He’d heard Dee laughing, and it had sounded so loud and bright, and _shit_ , what if he never hears Dee laugh like that again around him because he was too much of a drunkard to even check his messages? Dee had _tried_ , and what if Robert didn’t try too? He isn’t sure he could take that, one more shred of evidence that Robert is just destined to be a fuckup forever and ever, amen and whatnot.

He turns into a whirlwind of panic, getting dressed and grabbing his shit together in less time than he’d thought himself capable of anymore. Betsy runs around him in circles while he does this, barking and confused. He takes the time to refill her water and food dishes, isn’t sure when exactly he fed her so better safe than sorry, and presses a hard kiss between her eyes.

“Cross your fingers for me,” he says, and Betsy practically drowns him with how excitedly she’s kissing his face, so he takes it as a good sign as he rushes outside to his truck.

The lights are off in Dee’s house when he pulls up in the driveway, his own headlights off, and he curses under his breath, grabs his phone and opens the Dadbook app as he steps out of the truck.

ROBERT: _hey  
_ ROBERT: _Dee  
_ ROBERT: _hey  
_ ROBERT: _hey Dee  
_ ROBERT: _hey i’m outside  
_ ROBERT: _come outside_

He waits impatiently, gnawing on his lip and staring at his phone until he sees that Dee has read them. When the typing bubble doesn’t immediately appear, he begins typing furiously again.

ROBERT: _don’t make me honk  
_ ROBERT: _i will honk  
_ ROBERT: _get out here_

_Too demanding_ , he thinks, grimaces, but it’s too late to take the words back now. He thinks he sees the blinds twitch in one of the rooms. Every moment he waits his anxiety ratchets up a notch, and he’s about two seconds away from diving through his truck window and laying on the horn until everyone in the damn neighborhood is awake, but then Dee is walking outside looking disheveled and grumpy—

Damn.

_Legs._

“Hey,” Robert says, feeling dumb, feeling weird and _hot_ , and Dee just raises an eyebrow and continues not noticing he came outside wearing a sleepshirt and dark red briefs, not wearing any _pants_ , giving Robert an eyeful of what are honestly a pair of unfairly attractive legs, what is he now, _fourteen_ , who gets excited by _legs_ …

“Hey?” It comes out sounding like a question, and it dawns on Robert that maybe showing up unannounced at midnight after almost a week of radio silence is probably not the smartest move of his life. Floundering internally for a moment, he decides to just barrel on, why not, he was already here.

“Wanna hang?”

“I was kinda sleeping,” Dee answers, which isn’t exactly a no.

“That’s no fun,” Robert tells him, and shit, he should just let the guy get back to sleep, leave him alone, what is he _doing_? Then Dee shifts on his feet, one hip cocked out, and Robert feels his mouth go dry. “Come hang out.”

Silence settles between them as Dee stares at him, contemplating. Robert crosses his arms, resists the urge to dry his sweating palms against his sides, feels hot and cold all over as the silence seems to drag. He’s not sure the last time he’s done this, struggled to get someone to come out with him, he’s not sure the last time he’s ever tried to meet someone instead of having someone meet up with him and his needs and expectations. Yet here he is, standing outside the house of a man he’s not quite sure of his feelings for yet, practically begging him to come keep Robert company. It must look pathetic, he realizes, feeling his heart shrink, eyes starting to burn from it.

“Sure,” Dee says, and the knot Robert didn’t even realize was on his lungs loosens.

“Cool,” he says, and because he knows himself and his wandering hands, he asks, “You plan on going out like that?”

Ah, there’s that blush he didn’t realize he missed.

“I mean, I don’t mind,” he can’t keep from saying, grinning when Dee’s face turns an even darker red, about the same shade as his briefs.

“Right,” Dee says, looking for all the world like he wouldn’t mind finding a hole and crawling inside it. “One second.”

Dee closes the door, and Robert takes a second to mourn the loss of his view before realizing he doesn’t actually have any goddamn clue what he plans on doing. The bar is always an option, a tempting option, but his stomach rolls in protest. He rubs it absently. No to the bar, then; he’s not sure what Dee would think anyways, if he took them there, if Dee would start to line up the pieces and start seeing Robert for the hopeless cause he is

It's when Dee walks back outside, when Robert can’t decide if he’s more relieved or crushed to see him wearing pants, that he thinks of another view he likes, thinks maybe Dee would like it too, maybe, if he doesn’t screw up and ruin it for the other man.

“Ready?”

“Ready,” Dee answers, smiling. Robert sways, dumb like a moth drawn to a flame, he’s just going to burn up, he’s just going to get hurt, but _shit_ Dee is standing here, smiling and trusting Robert enough to go out with him in the dead of night, _shit_ but Dee might be the prettiest flame he’s seen in a while. He turns his head away from Dee, gets in the truck, wishes he didn’t always look to get burned by pretty things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe a weird place to cut it off, but I struggled with this part and honestly I didn't wanna look at it anymore. I hope you guys still like it tho! Thank you for all the really kind words, it really means a lot to me!!!
> 
> Also, it's like a rule or something for dads to wear briefs, I think

**Author's Note:**

> I definitely plan on finishing this! I'm actually just posting this first bit while I finish up the rest to, I dunno, put out feelers? Id the characterizations feel weird, or anything at all seems off, let me know and I'll see where it goes from there if it needs to be changed <3


End file.
